


i see the light

by heavensenq



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Tangled (2010)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, SnowBaz, baz n simon don't hate each other for ONCE, baz's coming out party, fiona pitch is the best aunt, simon can actually do shit, tangled, the humdrum - Freeform, the insidious humdrum - Freeform, the mage as mother gothel i'm yelling, the mage is a twat once again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 09:28:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 19,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18427757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensenq/pseuds/heavensenq
Summary: All Simon has ever known is his life in the tower. He's told it's for his own good, but he feels like he's slowly going crazy.Until one day, he meets a boy. The first person he's ever talked to, apart from the Mage, or at least the first he can remember. And suddenly, everything starts unraveling.





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> i got this idea at 1 in the morning and wrote most of it in a frenzy over the space of three days so please tell me if there's any errors!  
> happy countdown to wayward son!  
> \- gwen x

_Simon_

The tower is all I've ever known. It's brown brick, three rooms: my bedroom, the fight room, and the window room. I call it that because that's the only thing that matters in there.There's all my clothes and a bunch of junk the Mage brings back from his 'quests' and all of my books. But the window is the only thing I really care about, no matter what expensive present he brings back for me. It's how the Mage gets out, because there's no stairs. Well, not that I've found, and I've been looking for years. He uses **float like a butterfly** to scale the tower, which is fucking hard. I know, because I tried, and I almost choked to death. I don't know how he has the magic.

I've considered jumping out the window many times. It gets so boring. And I'm so lonely. And Merlin knows, I'm miserable. I know there's other people out there. I know because I've seen them, usually lost, wandering around near the base of the tower. But they can't see me, even when I shout, because the Mage has put a glamour over the tower. It probably looks like the ruins of an old castle, not interesting enough to investigate. And the magic hurts their eyes, he told me. I shouldn't hate him for that. He's just trying to protect me. But I need someone else. Just a friend. Someone to talk to. I think I'm going crazy. And it's not like I want to kill myself. I just want to get out. I dream about it sometimes. Just before I'm about to hit the ground, I stop. 

I've always thought of the Mage as my dad. He's the only person that I've ever known, or at least that I can remember. He's always treated me like an adult, even when I was young, and he tells me the answers to most things that I ask him. Except when I ask him why I'm in here. He's so bloody cryptic sometimes. He goes on about how 'I've been prophesied' and how I'm 'the most powerful mage to ever live'. I certainly don't feel like it. It's like there's a disconnect between my head and my mouth. I can feel my magic, tingling under my skin. Sometimes there's so much of it that it rises up my throat and I feel like I'm choking. It raises to my fingers without a second thought. But it doesn't...work. My spells come out stunted and awkward, and I can never remember the right words at the right moment, or add the right amount of emphasis to make them more powerful. So I just fight with my sword. The Mage is training me. He started when I was eleven years old. 

When I ask what for, he just says "I'm preparing you." 

And I never get anything else. He brings monsters for me to fight, and I fight them with my sword, or occasionally spells, if I can manage to get them out. I'm turning eighteen this year, and he hasn't mentioned anything. I know there's a war going on. That's the only thing I get constant news about. He tells me all about the Old Families, and the Coven, and how he's reforming the World of Mages. 

The World of Mages. A whole world, buzzing and burning with magic. And the Mage at the forefront. I always liked the sound of that. He says he wants to keep me safe from it all. He doesn't want me being influenced by the Old Families, and he wants me to practice my magic and my fighting. And whenever I asked why, he would shake his head, and say "Oh Simon. You're still so young." 

But I think I've always known. He wants me to fight in the war. I'm his weapon. His last resort. His atomic bomb. I think I've accepted it. I'm going to live here until the Mage takes me to his battle field, and then I'm going to fight until I die. 

He's scared of my magic sometimes. I know, because when it builds up, a tiny little thing makes me bubble over, and suddenly I've exploded, and the air is tinged with my magic, fizzing and crackling and sparking. He thinks I'm a ticking time bomb. He'll tiptoe around me as though I could go off at any moment. Sometimes I wonder that if I let my magic build up enough, I could bring the whole tower crumbling down, and it would finally end. 


	2. ii

_Baz_  
I think that I've emptied the entire forest. I've tried my best to only hunt every other night, but I've been so thirsty recently. I think it's the summer heat, it's getting to me. I’ve been wandering through the trees aimlessly for the past half an hour, listening desperately for the sound of animal feet. I could always do a summoning spell, but they're so draining, and magic is harder when I'm thirsty. It makes my spells tired and unfocused and weak, so the most I would get would be a field mouse. 

I come across a clearing in the trees. This sounds stupid, but I always thought the forest went on forever. The field is lush and green, and I bet there's a rabbit warren somewhere or other. I really need to restrict myself more, but it's hard when I feel like this: dizzy, and sick, like my stomach is clawing at my throat. The pain in my jaw has receded to a dull ache, but I know it won't go away. It's getting darker, and colder, so I need to get back. It's harder to hunt at night, and, contrary to popular belief, I can't actually see in the dark. Also, I've heard there's Dark creatures that live in the forest. They must be nocturnal, since I've never seen one in the daytime, and they are likely just rumours, but I don't want to risk it. 

As I continue walking, the top of a building comes into view. It looks a bit like a church spire, topped with a battered bronze cockerel weathervane. As I come closer, I see it's a tower, old and rickety, covered with weeds. It looks abandoned, but it smells strongly of magic. There's a glamour over it: you can tell, because the image flickers if you move your head too quickly, and the air glimmers with a rainbow sheen, like an oil spill.

There's no door around the base of the tower. Or at least if there is, it's very well hidden. I can see a small window at the top, shutters bolted closed. It's not too high up, I could magick myself up, or I could climb. But I think in my current state, that wouldn't go very well. I'll investigate this some other time.

As I'm leaving, I think I hear a shout, but when I turn around, there's no one there.


	3. iii

_Baz_  
The sun is barely up when I wake up. The house is silent, like it always is. I've always hated how quiet it gets; it feels like it's empty. It's not like I care about being alone, otherwise I never would’ve been able to stomach the Catacombs. But there's special type of silence in the morning, thicker somehow, laid like a blanket over the house. Every sound, every creak of the floorboard sounds so wrong, so out of place.   
I go out of the back door- cold air does wonders for concentration. Once I get up, there's no going back to sleep for me. I just lie there, mulling over all the thoughts in my head until they turn into anxieties, and I feel sick.   
I slip on Malcolm’s jacket- it's an expensive one, Burberry I think. But it keeps me much warmer than my one, so if I get it muddy I can always take it to the launderette's. 

It's rained in the night. You can feel it in the air; the cold has a certain sort of crispness to it. I hope it doesn't leak through my trainers. 

I was thinking about the tower all last night. While I was searching, the taste of the magic stayed on my tongue. There were two different types mingling together: the glamour smelled like a marsh, the magic was thick and muddy, and it left a bad taste in my mouth. The other one smelled like smoke. But the second was barely there- I doubt I would've picked up on it if it weren't for my heightened senses. It was like the magic had been stifled. 

I managed to find a couple of rabbits, not before I almost drained one of my neighbour's prize ponies. But the image of the tower stayed at the front of my mind, even when I was going to sleep. That thick, marshy magic, and the quiet smoky magic that tinged the air. 

I get there much quicker this time, now I know where I'm going. I thought I would get lost- all the trees look the same, and the leaves are so thick that sometimes I can't see even right in front of me. It seems a lot less scary in the daylight, less abandoned, less looming. 

I can hear voices.   
“I've told you before, the world is too dangerous!”   
“Well why am I fighting monsters every day then? I must be good for something! I must be able to defend myself pretty well by now!”  
“Simon, you have no idea what the world is like--”  
“And who's fault is that?”  
“I know that you're angry, but you have to be patient. You know why you stay in this tower. People want to use your magic for evil things. You'll see the world soon enough,”  
“You say that every time. Every bloody time.”  
“Simon--”  
“Go. Just fucking go.” 

I can feel the magic in the air thicken, and for a second I think that someone is having a bonfire, before I realise that it's the smoky magic. There's a slight red tint to the air now, and I watch as a man opens the shutters angrily. He climbs out onto the ledge, casts float like a butterfly, and glides down onto the grass as though he were walking down the stairs. He's dressed all in green, like Peter Pan, and I realise that it's the Mage. Fucking hell, the Mage has a secret son. Or a secret...something. He's keeping someone locked away in a tower.  
The Old Families will love this. Malcolm will have a riot. They can file him for child abuse. Even though I think they could've done that a long time ago, the way he's running Watford.  
He marches away, stony faced. The boy in the tower screams for a short second. The Mage looks back, concerned, but doesn't say anything. I wait until the Mage has disappeared into the woods, then go.

“Hello?” I call out.  
“Piss off, I said!”  
“That's not very polite, we haven't even met.”  
Is that really what I sound like? I sound like Malcolm. Crowley, I sound like Dev’s impersonation of an RP accent. I gag at the thought.

A face appears at the window. He’s a teenager, maybe around my age. His hair is a mess of curls, a brownish-bronze, and I can just about see the expression on his face. His eyebrows are knotted together, and he's scrunched his nose up in confusion. 

“You can see through the glamour?”   
“Well, mages generally can,”  
“Oh shit, you're a mage?”  
“How did you guess?” I say, sarcastically. I should probably be nicer. I don't want this mysterious boy disappearing on me.   
But he ignores me. “Who are you?”  
“Baz. Baz Grimm-Pitch.” I’m not telling him my full name. I don't want him mocking me before he even knows me.  
“Shit...Pitch…like House of Pitch?”   
“Exactly like that. Why?”  
“Can you come up?”   
“How? There's no stairs, I checked,” I know I saw the Mage cast a spell, but I don't want him to realise that I was listening to their conversation.  
“The Mage usually just spells himself up.”  
“Ah, right.” I mastered float like a butterfly after third year, when I was still hunting in the woods every night. The Mage puts the drawbridge up at 10pm, and I knew I couldn't risk getting locked out.  
The spell is quite tricky, because you can end up trying to levitate your lungs out of your mouth if you do it wrong, which isn't pleasant.

 

_Simon_  
He has a really nice coat. It's black, and it has lots of buttons on it. It looks expensive.  
“Is the Mage your father?” He skirts the window sill elegantly, like he's done this many time before.  
“I think so. I don’t really know.”  
“And you just call him the Mage?”  
I nod. I'm starting to realise how odd that sounds. I don't even know his real name.  
“That's fucking weird,” he says. I grin.  
“What’s your name?”   
“Simon Snow.” He laughs at that.  
“What’s so funny?”  
“That's a stupid name,” he says, shaking out his hair. It's long, down to his shoulders, and it hangs in dark silky waves.   
I glare at him. “So is Baz Pitch.”   
He sighs. “Touché.”  
We sit in silence for a few moments, sneaking glances at each other. I'm worried that I'm boring him. I can't let him go.

His skin is deathly pale, so white it almost glows in the dim early morning light.  
“Why do you hate the Mage?” I say.  
He draws breath sharply, and cocks an eyebrow, then sits back, and smiles an infuriating smile, with all his perfect white teeth. “What makes you think I hate him?”  
I snort. “I _know_ you hate him. He goes on and on about the Old Families, and how they're power hungry money hoarders, and how they're classist, and elitist, and speciesist--”  
“Crowley Snow, I get the bloody point,” he says. He looks up at me slightly angrily. “You'll probably believe anything your precious Mage says. If he walked in here and told you that I was a mass murderer on the run from the police, I bet you'd believe that too.”  
I shrug. “I wouldn't be surprised.”  
He glares at me again.  
“I could spend all weekend here telling you how the Mage is corrupt and evil, but right now I want to know about this mysterious boy I have just found locked away in a tower.” I grin. “Why are you here?”  
I pause. I feel like the past seventeen years, or however long it's been, is unravelling, in the space of the two minutes that I've been talking to this boy. I really don't know.  
“The Mage said I was prophesied. He keeps me hidden so he can protect me, until the time is right. He's training me to fight.”  
Baz raises both his eyebrows. “So you're the Mage's weapon that he keeps going on about!”  
“What?”  
“My father tells me all about what happens at Coven meetings, usually in a fit of rage. Oh, the Coven is sort of like a mage gov--”  
“Yes, yes, I know, go on,”  
He gives me a burning look. He obviously doesn't like being interrupted.  
“As I was saying, there's this thing that they've been discussing for… must be be nearly twenty years now. It's called the Insidious Humdrum.”  
I snort.  
“I know right, it's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard too.” He flashes me a half smile.  
“He sucks magic out of places. Whole cities, sometimes. No one knows why, but everyone knows that mages can't stay in the dead spots. It's awful, so many people have had to move. It's hard to spend ten seconds in one if you're really powerful.”  
“What does it feel like?” I say. The Mage has never mentioned this Humdrum to me.   
“It starts as this dry, scratchy, sucking feeling. It gets under your skin, and down your throat, until your feel like you're choking. It feels like your magic is being ripped away from you. But the Mage never talks about what he's going to do. He just goes on and on about his weapon. How the likes of it have never been seen before. I always thought he'd developed a new spell or something. I never thought that it was a person,” he finishes. He looks thoroughly underwhelmed, to be honest. I would be as well, I'm not much to look at. Scrawny and pale from undereating, with scatterings of poxy moles, and a speech impediment.   
“You said you were prophesied,” he says. “Do you mean that you're the Chosen One?”   
“Yeah, I think so.” I know so. The Mage tells me practically every day. “You're the Chosen One, Simon,” he said. “The saviour of the World of Mages. You can't just get _bored_ of fighting.”   
“But it _is_ boring. And I do it _every day_. Can't I just have a break? Surely the World of Mages doesn't need saving right this second?”  
“Do I ever have a break, Simon? Have you ever seen me take a holiday? The World of Mages is constantly at risk. The Humdrum is always out there, eating magic, destroying magickal Britain. And you are the only one who can stop him.”  
I felt guilty, but I was too angry to care.   
“So when will I stop him?” I said, exasperated.  
“When the time is right,” he said. Fucking hell. 

The prophecy is ingrained into my mind. “ _And one will come to end us/ And one will bring his fall_ ,”  
“ _Let the greatest power of powers reign/ May it save us all_ ,” Baz finishes.   
“You're glowing,” he says. His eyebrows are raised- I think this might be the closest he gets to wonder. It's a nice thought.  
I shrug.  
“It's the magic, or the prophecy, or something. I have too much of it. Sometimes it leaks off me.”  
Baz nods. “When I heard about the Chosen One, I just couldn't imagine it. Someone that powerful. I knew I was powerful. But you… how does it feel? To have that much magic?”  
I shrug again. “A bit shit, to he honest.” We both laugh.  
“But yeah. It's just a lot of pressure. And I know the Mage is just trying to get me to my full potential, but it's just a bit fucking depressing, you know? That it's so inevitable. I'm going to go out there, and I'm going to fight the Humdrum, whether I want to or not. And I'm probably going to die in the process. And if I do manage to kill it, I'll spend the rest of my life fighting other monsters.”  
Baz looks genuinely sad for a second. “So you just train every day?”  
“Basically, yeah. Train and study.”  
He knots his eyebrows together. “But you could just do that at Watford.”  
“Watford?”   
His eyes widen for a second. “Crowley. You don't know about Watford? Merlin, the _Mage’s son_ doesn't know about Watford.”  
I raise my eyebrows at him.  
“Magickal boarding school. The best there is in Britain. The Mage is the headmaster.”   
I shake my head in disbelief. “The Mage never told me about a magic school,”   
Baz closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Crowley, this is child abuse,” he says.   
“No it's not!” I say angrily. I don't know why I'm trying to defend the Mage. I've hated him for the past three years. For keeping me in here, away from the rest of the world.   
But deep down, I love him. I always will, no matter what he puts me through.   
“He’s just trying to protect me!”  
“From what!” Baz retorts. He’s not shouting, rather his voice is scarily quiet. He reminds me of the Mage. Whenever the Mage goes quiet, you know you've really fucked something up.   
“What is so truly terrible about the world that the Mage feels it necessary to lock you in a tower for the whole of your life?”   
“He- I'm the Chosen One! He wants to keep me away from people like… people like--”  
“People like what?”  
“People like you!” I shout. I don't know why I'm so angry all of a sudden. It's a fierce, raging anger, burning in the pit of my stomach, like it's alive. I'm not quite she who it's directed at.“I know what the Mage says about your family. People who want the Humdrum to continue eating magic, so they can keep magic all to themselves!”   
Baz spits at my feet.   
“You can't be the Chosen One on your own, Snow. It doesn't work like that,” he says, with venom in his voice. “ _And one will come to save us_ ,” he quotes. “There's no Chosen One without _us_.” I'm stunned to silence.   
“Can't you see how he treats you? Training you to fight something that you didn't even know existed before today. He’s fucking _using_ you, Snow. He’s turned you into a machine.”  
I'm seething. How dare he? He hasn't even known me a day. How dare he say the Mage is using me. I know the Mage better than anyone else. He cares about me, he really does, and not just because of my magic.  
“Get out,” I say, quietly.   
“Snow--”  
“Get out!” I shout. “The Mage will be back soon, anyway. You don't want him to catch you here. Especially since you're a _Pitch_.” I spit the last word out. He looks furious, but slightly sad as well. “Right,” he says, turns on his heel and climbs up onto the window sill.  
I cry myself to sleep.


	4. iv

_Baz_  
It's hard to get to sleep. I can't stop thinking about Simon, all alone in his tower. I’m still angry at him, but I know it's not really fair. I shouldn't have been so harsh on him. All of his opinions have been force fed to him directly by the Mage. Christ, what a nightmare.  
Mordelia has started learning violin, so now she's up at ungodly hours, screeching away. She's wrecking a Bowie song right now- I think it might be Heroes. If I was in my right mind I would march down there and snatch the poor instrument from her hands.  
I can't believe the Mage has a secret son. I can't believe the Mage's secret son is the Chosen One. I can't believe the Mage keeps his secret Chosen One superpowered son locked away in a tower in the middle of nowhere.


	5. v

_Simon_  
When he arrives, I pretend to be asleep. I don't want to face him. I haven't got the energy.  
“Simon?” he calls out. He opens the door to my bedroom. “Simon?” he whispers.   
He creeps over to my bed. “Simon!”  
“What?” I mumble.  
“I had a meeting with the Coven today, and I told them about you. They said they want you to start coming to meetings with me.”  
“What?” I sit bolt upright, locking eyes with him.  
He nods. “They want to get to know you, Simon.”  
I sit in silence for a few seconds, trying to process the information that he’s just given me. And then I blurt out the first thing that comes into my head.  
“Why didn't you tell me about the Humdrum?”   
The Mage freezes. “What? How- How did you find out?”  
“Er…well, I was reading about it in one of my Magickal History books.” I stutter. It's lucky it’s dark, otherwise the Mage would see how red my face is right now.  
“Oh, yes, well… I was planning to tell you about that--”  
“No you weren't. You were going to shove me out to fight a monster that I didn't even know existed, and then take all the credit.”  
He looks shocked. “You know I don't like it when you interrupt me, Simon.”  
“But--”   
He looks down at me overbearingly.  
“Sorry sir.”   
“As I was saying, I was waiting for the right time to tell you. I would never let you go into a fight unprepared. Why do you think I've been training you all your life? You're a young man now, Simon. You need to realise these things.”   
I swallow my anger guiltily.  
He sits down on my bed. “Simon? Is there something going on? Something I should know about?”   
“No sir.”  
“Well, alright” he says. He gets up and walks to the door. “But Simon?”  
“Yes?”  
“You can talk to me at any time, about anything. You know that, don't you?”  
“Yes sir.”  
He closes the door, and I am surrounded by darkness again.

 

 _The Mage_  
I wait outside his door, listening until his breathing evens out, and then I go.   
I wonder every day whether this was the right choice. Hiding Simon from the world. I just wanted to keep him safe, where no harm would come to him. Away from all the petty fights and politicks. I want to help him, but I don't know how.  
He's so powerful. I can't comprehend it sometimes. Occasionally, I wonder whether I really want to let him out into the world at all.  
I get my cloak and hat, and step out onto the window sill. The air is cold and bracing tonight. It gets right through to my bones.  
I hope Simon is okay. I wish I could fix him, give him a normal life. But what's done is done, and I think it was for the best.


	6. vi

_Baz_  
I keep thinking about his power. How he glowed, golden light coursing round him, haloing him. It was beautiful.  
I'm desperate to go back, to be honest. He’s so mysterious, and he doesn't even seem to realise it. And I'm sure Malcolm will be happy to get some proper dirt on the Mage.  
I wonder what Fiona would think. She's always hated the Mage, so I know I would just be giving her an opportunity to bitch. But I wonder what she would say about Simon, kept away from everyone and everything, forced to fight everyday to prepare for a battle he had no choice in fighting in. Christ, it's so depressing. 

 

 _Simon_  
I don't get a wink of sleep. I can't stop thinking about Baz. Every time my mind drifts off, it circles back to him. How confident he was, and how self assured.  
His jibes at the Mage felt personal. They still hurt, as though they were physical blows. But when he left, that was more painful. I doubt he'll ever come back. Honestly, I'll put up with whatever his politickal views are, as long as he comes back. The tower feels so much emptier at night, when everything is so silent that my heartbeat sounds like a drum.  
I can't accept the fact that it's my fault that I shooed Baz away. I was the one who shouted at him. I still hate him, just a little bit. For breaking the one thing that I had. Even though the cracks in the foundation were already there. They were there a long time ago. But I can't help loving the Mage.  
Right now, my mind is spiralling. I keep running through what I know, but Baz’s posh voice keeps interrupting and questioning everything. It goes something like this:  
Right, the Mage is in the wrong for putting me in this tower, I know that, but he did it for a good reason. He was trying to protect me--  
_From what? You are perfectly capable of defending yourself from whatever. After all, you’ve trained for long enough._  
Yes, but from the influence of other people--  
_Is that for your or the Mage's benefit, though? Does he want to protect you from their influence because they are ‘evil overlords’, or because he knows in the back of his mind that what they are saying isn’t strictly untrue, and he's scared that you might agree with them?_  
No, the Mage is right. Why else would he be the Mage?  
_What about all the corrupt leaders you read about in Magickal History? In World History? Just because he's the most powerful, doesn't mean he's the most perfect._  
No, but I know the Mage. He’s not evil.  
_Do you really know the Mage? Really? Do you know where he goes every day? Did you know that he was headmaster of a magickal school before today? Do you even know his name?_

I groan. It's been going around like this for at least half an hour. Baz is a very good arguer, inside and outside my head. I'm tempted to sneak out, try and find him. But I quickly realise how stupid that would be. I have no idea where he lives. He could live on the other side of the country, for all I know. I creep over to the window- I know I'm alone, but I think it's a side effect of having so little privacy for all my life. The Mage just walks into my room without knocking, and if he says anything he won't wait for a response most times. I'm scared to even have a wank.  
I look out at the dark sky. It's littered with stars. I can name all of the constellations. I learned them all when I was about thirteen, when the Mage got me a book on space for my thirteenth birthday. I never got any sleep that year. I was also bored out if my mind and constantly was trying to find new things to do that wasn't fighting a new kind of monster. But that wasn't new.  
I think I have an odd amount of niche skills. Single player chess. Knitting. (Badly.) Table football. (I used to have a real football, but I broke one of the Mage’s fancy vases and he threw it out the tower. He was properly pissed. I think it was expensive.)  
I hope Baz doesn't think it's too weird. If he ever comes back, that is. Which he won't. But you know. Hypothetically.  
I used to hate silence. It terrified me. It's why I used to talk out loud to myself. (I still do.) But it was a constant thing. Just so I wouldn't accept the silence. But I've grown used to it. My brain fills in the spaces with white noise. Random, endless chatter, so I never have to really face it.  
The night is beautiful, though. Even if I'm so bored of looking out at the same view every day, for my whole life, I can still appreciate it.  
There's a house in the distance. I only noticed it last year, because I was only just tell enough to see over the trees. It's huge. A manor, I think. I wonder if it's Baz's house. _Baz ___  
I can see the tower from my balcony. It's right in my eyeline. I don't know why I never noticed it before now. Probably because I've never been particularly inclined to stand on an ancient crumbling stone balcony that could probably collapse any second. I wonder if Snow could see me from here.  
I get the torch on my bedside table. (I used to be scared of the dark, and the manor is definitely haunted. I'm not scared anymore, but I keep it there anyway.) I flash it on and off a few times. I wish I knew Morse code. ____Simon__  
I see a light blinking in the distance. U, B, X?  
I get my lantern. 

___Baz_  
Three long, three short, three long. Even I know what that means. SOS._ _

__

____Simon__  
The light goes off. Maybe it was Baz.  
_Wishful thinking_. 

__

___Baz_  
I'm coming._ _


	7. vii

_Baz_  
When I get there, I hear Snow's voice echoing from the tower.  
“Fucking hell Baz,” he says. I freeze. “It's not like they're going to send out a search and rescue party. They're probably asleep right now.” He’s talking to me. Not me, but his version of me. Aleister almighty, I'm probably so bitchy inside his head.  
“Don't kid yourself. Whoever it was, they definitely didn't know Morse.”  
I grimace. I'm learning Morse code tomorrow.  
“Yeah, definitely,”  
He sighs. “Fucking fantastic,” he says. It's so dry that it could’ve been me.  
“You definitely don't have a saviour complex. If anything, you have a god complex.”  
I wince. Did I really come off that arrogant? We only met for a bit more than half an hour.  
“Prat.”  
“Snow!” I shout. I really hope the Mage isn't there.  
“I can hear you fine, Baz, you don't need to shout.”  
“No, it's me, the real Baz!” So fucking weird.  
“Baz?”  
A face appears at the window. Snow.

 

_Simon_  
He's started talking to me again. Every time I try to go to sleep. It's like he's insistent on irritating me to death.  
He's a niggling little voice in the back of my mind that just won't shut up. At least it's company, I guess.  
_Maybe that was me_ , he keeps saying. He’s so cryptic.  
Or maybe, the more likely option, is that it was someone checking whether their torch worked.  
_What if they were trying to signal something to you?_  
If they were trying to signal something to me, they would've known Morse code.  
You never know. They could be out looking for you right now.  
Fucking hell Baz. It's not like they're going to send out a search and rescue party. They're probably asleep right now.  
_They saw your SOS though._  
Don't kid yourself. Whoever it was, they definitely didn't know Morse.  
_The Mage would do his nut if he knew you had been secretly trying to communicate with someone via Morse code._  
Yeah, definitely.  
How does it feel to be a rebel?  
I sigh. Fucking fantastic.  
_Maybe I am coming. Maybe I'm coming right now._  
You definitely don't have a saviour complex. If anything, you have a god complex.  
_Tosser._  
Prat.  
_Snow!_  
I can hear you fine, Baz, you don't need to shout.  
_No, it's me. The real Baz!_  
Baz?  
I go over to the window, and look out. Baz Pitch is looking up at me.  
_I told you I was coming._  
_Baz_ “Baz! You came!”  
“I now see that you're not in any imminent danger.”  
“So that _is_ your house, over the trees!”  
“Well, can I go now?”  
“No! Just...just come up, alright?”  


  
_Baz_  
I oblige.  
He's wearing a slightly less grubby t-shirt than last time, that reads _Watford Lacrosse_. Crowley, I know the Mage's dress is atrocious, but would it kill him to go into a shop? Even a T K Maxx? He might as well send Snow to Watford. He practically dresses in the school uniform, anyway.  
I stamp my feet on the floor to get the mud off. My trainers are sopping.  
Snow is holding up a lantern. It's torn and folded, and fraying around the edges, but the sun design is still clear. “These lanterns go up every year, on my birthday. The Mage just says it's some weird hippie thing, but I don't know if I believe him anymore.”  
He looks hopeful, like he's been waiting a long time to ask someone this.  
I take the lantern. It's covered with mud, and it's not even one of the nice ones.  
“Well, he was lying to you.” Snow nods eagerly. He’s like a badly trained puppy.  
“...On June 21st, about eighteen years ago, there was a burst of magic. Everyone felt it. It was like touching a live wire. People said that was the Chosen One, coming to save us. So when the Humdrum started getting worse, they started praying. And now people send up lanterns, as a signal for the Chosen One. It's more of a hope thing, though. You know, like solidarity. Against the Humdrum.”  
“Did you send out lanterns?”  
“When I was younger I did. My sister still does. Everyone wants the Humdrum to be killed,” I say, giving him a pointed stare. “ _Especially_ the Old Families.”  
He looks guilty.  
“So I have my own festival?” he says, his eyes lighting up.  
“Yes. Don't let it go to your head.” He grins.  
“It's really beautiful, though. It's my favourite thing. I always stay up late to watch them.”  
“Maybe you could see them up close one day.”  
“Maybe you could take me to see them,” he says, giving me the side-eye. “It's June now, isn’t it?”  
I raise my eyebrows. “I'm not sure the Mage would be very keen on that idea,” I say.  
“No, I don't think he would.” When he smiles, he uses his whole face, and his eyes light up.  
He rubs his cheeks until they're a ruddy red colour. “He wants me to start going to Coven meetings.”  
I raise an eyebrow. “You should go. Bring it down from the inside.”  
He nods. “Yeah, I think I will. It's just… I don't know anything. I really don't see how I’d be of any use.”  
“You're a figurehead though.”  
“A what?”  
“A figurehead. You know. Someone who shows everyone that the Mage is actually doing something. Even if he isn't.”  
“Oh.”  
“But you can certainly come with me to see the floating lanterns.” He grins again.  
“Thanks,” he says.  
“You're welcome.”


	8. viii

_Simon_  
The Mage wakes me up so early. My alarm clock reads _6:17_.   
“We need to be up early,” he says, yanking open the curtains. I squint as light floods into the room. “I need to prepare you for the meeting before we go.”  
I groan. I'm barely excited. I doubt the Mage will even let me out of his car. I'll go there, go to the meeting, and come straight back. “Is it that important?”  
“Simon, this is the government. Every meeting is important.”  
I groan again and rub my eyes. “Alright.”

Four hours later, I'm in the car on the way to the meeting. The windows are tinted dark black, but I can still see the streets as we pass them. Normal people with normal houses going about their normal lives.  
The Mage has grilled me relentlessly on every question he thinks they might ask. My head is buzzing, and I'm absolutely exhausted. I just want to go back to sleep, honestly.

When we get to the meeting, they ask me to wait in a room while the Mage talks to everyone. They give me scones with cream and jam. I love scones. I always have them on my birthday. After the third, they start looking at me concernedly.   
“Right Simon, you can come in now,” the Mage says.  
I wipe my mouth in the back of my sleeve, and then remember that I'm wearing a suit. The Mage lent it to me. He says it was his when he was younger.  
The room is large and lit with harsh white electric lighting. There is a big mahogany table in the centre, and everyone looks at me as I come in. My face goes very red.  
“This is Simon Snow, my ward.” I raise a hand awkwardly to greet the room.   
“Simon, you can take a seat now,” the Mage gestures.  
“Oh, right,” I say.  
The back of my neck is very hot.

The meeting all blurs into one after a while. I keep looking around at everyone. Mostly everyone looks the same, middle aged white men wearing pinstripe suits. There's one lady who seems to disagree with everything the Mage says. She's Indian, and she's wearing a dress patterned with blue and pink butterflies. She smiles at me, but it's a pitying smile.   
They ask me questions occasionally, about the Humdrum, and what I think about the current state of the economy, and whether I think we've got the resources to fight the Humdrum, if I can't. I just parrot back whatever the Mage has told me.   
Most of the time, I'm thinking about how I'll manage to sneak out of the tower on my birthday. I think I might just ask him. Just to see what he says.  
The meeting’s almost over. I'm wondering if I can ask the Mage if we can buy some scones to take home with me.  
“Just before we finish, I have one final question for Simon,” the Indian woman says. She looks at me with her forceful stare. I look down. “The Mage says he believes you are the Chosen One. Do you think so? And if so, do you really think you can defeat the Humdrum? What makes you different from my daughter? She must be around your age.”  
I swallow thickly. The Mage nods at me. “I am the Chosen One. I know that. I- I really don't know if I can defeat the Humdrum...I've been training since I was young, so I think I have a pretty good chance,” I say.  
“And Simon is the most powerful mage to ever have lived. He’s the most likely to defeat the Humdrum out of anyone, in my opinion.” says the Mage.  
But the woman barely looks at him. “What do you mean, training? You don't study at Watford, do you?”  
“Uh...No, not exactly,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “I- I train with the Mage.”  
“If you're the best chance we've got, how come we've never seen you before today?” she asks. It's true.  
“That's enough, Mitali,” says the Mage, warningly. I look down. But there's a little voice in the back of my mind, egging me on.  
“Right, I think that's all for today,” says the Mage, clapping his hands.   
I clear my throat. Everyone looks at me.  
“The reason you've never seen me is because the Mage keeps me locked away in a tower, training me so I can kill the Humdrum. I didn't even know what the Humdrum was before this week. And I didn't know what Watford was either--”   
“That's quite enough, Simon,” the Mage says sharply. But everyone around me is whispering to each other, and Mitali is looking at me with her eyes wide open, like she can't quite believe what I just said. I don't blame her. It's probably sounds completely inconceivable.  
“I’m very sorry everyone,” the Mage says. “He gets quite vivid hallucinations. It's all the magic, it messes with his brain sometimes.” He grabs me and opens the door. But I'm still feeling reckless. “If Baz Pitch hadn't found me, I'd probably still have no idea what the Humdrum is,” Several men look at each other and mouth Baz Pitch. Of course he has relatives on the Coven, the posh bastard. The Mage's grip tightens on ‘Pitch’. “We really must go, Simon,” he says. “Sorry again, everyone.”  
He drags me outside. “How dare you,” he hisses. “After everything I've done for you.” His gaze is steely, and I'm utterly terrified. His grip is so tight that I think his fingers are piercing my skin.   
Once we get outside, I manage to wriggle out of his grasp. And I run. But I can hear the Mage uttering a spell. “ **Stop right there**!” he shouts.  
And that's the last thing I hear before I black out.


	9. ix

_Simon_  
He's still casting spells when I wake up.  
“ **Ix-nay on the ower tay**.”  
It’s a serious spell. I feel the Mage's magic wash over me. He’s casting spell after spell, so quickly that his speech is slurred.  
“What the hell were you thinking! I need a government that trusts me, that is unified! You can't go making allegations against me that aren't true!”  
I sit up. “But they are--”  
“Christ, Simon, no they aren't. You know why I keep you in this tower. It's so people like Mitali Bunce and Malcolm Grimm don't distract you from your purpose!” he snaps.  
“Which is to kill the Humdrum! Which is what I said!”  
“You know very well you didn't! You made it sound like I was some sort of child abuser!”  
Baz's words ring in my ears. _Crowley, this is child abuse_.  
“Well maybe you are,” I mumble.  
He whips his head round. “What did you just say?”  
“Nothing.”  
He hits me, straight across the face. Tears spring to my eyes. “How dare you! I don't think you quite realise what I do for you! I've shaped my life around you, Simon. And what do you do to repay me? You act like you’ve been abused!” He’s bristling with anger.  
I close my eyes. All I can see is red. I don't know who is right, but his words are ringing around my head, clashing with Baz's, so loud I can't think.  
“Simon,” he says. “ **Keep calm**! **Suck it up**!”  
But the air is so thick with red that I can barely see him, and I'm shaking. I'm not sure if I want to calm down.  
“This is that Pitch boy's fault. You were perfectly behaved before. This is what I'm always going on about. _Bad influence_ ,” he hisses. The magic in the air is suffocating. I think I'm going to pass out.

_the Mage_  
I thought I had him under control. I thought this the right choice. Keeping him here, under my thumb. Not letting him out of my sight. To protect him. His magic. It was going so well. Of course it would be a Pitch who would mess it all up.  
I need to cover this up, before it gets out. Which inevitably, it will. I can't have the whole of Magickal Britain turning against me because of some stupid thing Simon said. He’s been acting so strange lately. Every time I'm around him, it feels like he's trying to keep something in. But it's like he's trying to use his hands to dam a river.

 

_Baz_  
I am working on a new Depeche Mode song on my violin, trying to drown out the sounds of Mordelia's awful playing. There's a knock on my door.  
“Baz?” It's Malcolm. “Can I have a word?”  
This worries me. I've never had a ‘word’ with Malcolm, not even when I started getting my bloodlust.  
I place my violin on the seat, and open the door. He looks extremely awkward. Pitches really don't have ‘words’. Not ever. You're just expected to know what's going on at all times, and if you're going through something, you repress it.  
“Can I come in? I'll only be a minute,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.  
I step aside, and grimace. I hate people coming into my room.  
“I was at a Coven meeting today.”  
I nod.  
“And there was this boy. Simon Snow, the Mage called him.”  
I nod again, keeping mum. I'm not letting Malcolm know anything unless he specifically asks it. I revel in being a closed book.  
“And, well, he mentioned you.”  
The tosser. I knew I could count on him to tell all.  
“Ah.” I really don't know what else I can say.  
“I was wondering if you could shed some light on how you know him?”  
“He- uh.. He goes to Watford. He’s in my year.”  
Malcolm gives me a burning look. “That's not what Mitali Bunce said.”  
Trust a Bunce to rat me out. (I'm sure Penelope and I could be friends if she wasn't so bloody smart. And if she wasn't a complete loner.)  
“Simon told everyone he'd been locked in a tower.”  
“Sounds like he has brain damage.”  
Malcolm winces. “Tyrannus!”  
“I would too, if I had to live with the Mage for eighteen years,” I mutter.  
He raises his eyebrows. “So you do know about him.”  
I pause. I've really dug myself a hole, haven't I. “Well, yes, I've met him before. I was going to tell you about him. It was just finding the right time.”  
Malcolm nods. He doesn't seem convinced. “So it's true, then?”  
“Yes.”


	10. x

_Baz_  
I run to the tower in my pyjamas. It's freezing out, and the grass is all damp and muddy, and I'll probably get horrendous grass stains, but that's not at the front of my mind right now. I just want to know if Snow is okay. I feel personally responsible for egging him into this, and I just want to know that the Mage didn't attack him, or something.  
“Simon?” I call.  
There's a crash and a shout. The shutters are shoved open.  
“Simon, get back here right now,” a voice ring out. But Simon has already launched himself straight through the window, and into thin air. He's falling. He's falling so fast. I scuffle for my wand, but just as I pull it out of my pyjama pocket, but I'm shaking, and my fingers are numb with cold.  
Then, just before he’s about to hit the ground, something happens. There's a tearing sounds, and out from his back sprouts a pair of huge crimson wings.  
That's completely insane. I’m sure that's not a spell. You can't just wish you had wings. Otherwise everyone would be up in the air. We don't grant wishes. We're not genies.  
The Mage hurls a spell at me, but I'm fast. I think it might be been **curiosity killed the cat**. It's a dangerous spell, and very, very illegal. And it's not like I was being curious, anyway. I already knew that the Mage was an absolute bastard.  
I throw back a **hold your horses** and keep running. I don't know where Snow thinks he's flying to. There's a thud, up ahead of me. I think it's Snow. I run faster.  
I find him lying in the woods. He’s groaning and rubbing his eyes.  
“Christ, I know I'm fit, but it doesn't mean you have to jump out of the tower,” I say. He gives me a pained smile.  
“I think I have a concussion,” he says.  
“I'm sure you do. You dropped at least forty feet. I'm surprised you haven't broken any bones.”  
“We've yet to discover,” he says, screwing his eyes shut.  
“Up you get, Snow. We need to get away from here.”  
“Where are we going?”  
“Oh, I've got a place,” I say, grinning. Aunt Fiona’s going to be sleeping on the sofa for the next week.


	11. xi

_Baz_  
“No you bloody well can't keep him here! He's the Mage's son!”  
“That's not his fault though!”  
Simon is lying on the sofa, unconscious.   
We walked to a main road, (Snow leaning on me heavily and groaning dramatically, me complaining about how heavy he was.) and managed to hitch a lift. I've never hitchhiked before. I wonder what my mother would say.   
When we got to London, we took a taxi straight to Fiona's flat. It was all hideously embarrassing, because I was still in my pyjamas, and then I had to get money off Fiona to pay for the taxi. I really hate owing people.  
“And it’s not like there's anywhere else he can go!”  
“Take him to Hampshire, Baz! I'm sure Daphne would be delighted to have another irritating child to look after!”  
“Oh yeah, because I'm sure Malcolm would be really pleased to see me turn up with the Chosen One on his doorstep,” I retort. “And besides, you've got space.”  
She gives me a withering look. It's actually what I modelled mine on. It still gives me shivers.   
“There's not room to swing a cat in here, Baz. You  
know that. It's titchy.”  
“Well, it will only be for a week. Until he's got something figured out,” I say. I give her my best smile, batting eyelashes and all.   
“You're a menace, you are,” she says. But she's grinning. “Now get lost. Pop down to the chippy and get us something. It closes at ten.” She rummages in her pocket and hands me a tenner.   
She rubs her thumb against my cheek. “You're a good lad, Baz. You're a whiny bitch, but you're a good lad.” 

 

_Fiona_  
He has some bloody nerve, strolling in here and demanding things, like I'm his servant.   
God, I've missed him. I wish he still spent his summers here.  
The boy is rolling and groaning. I'm not sure what to do. I've watched Casualty a couple of times, but that's it.   
I fetch a blanket and drape it over him, and boil the kettle for some tea. I feel awful for him. I mean, I knew the Mage was a complete wanker, but I didn't know that he'd go this far. Christ, this is insane. I leave the boy a biscuit out of my special tin as well. The one Baz always finds and steals.


	12. xii

_Simon_  
I wake up to blaring music, and pause for a second in confusion. The Mage never plays music.   
Then it all comes flooding back to me.   
Baz is sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, watching me intently.  
“Fiona ate your biscuits,” he says.  
I frown.   
“You should’ve woken up earlier.”  
“Were you watching me while I was sleeping?”   
He scowls. “Crowley, how creepy do you think I am, Snow? I’m not Edward Cullen.”  
I frown again. “Who's Edward Cullen?”  
“Nicks and Slicks, you've missed out,” he says, looking at me in disbelief.

 

_Baz_  
I was definitely watching him.

I pull out an earphone and offer it to him.  
He moves like a sloth with a limp.

Starman comes on. It's a bit overplayed, but I love it just the same as when Fiona first played it. Snow scrunches up his nose. “Who’s this?”  
“Morgana, Snow, have you been living under a rock?”  
“No, in a tower.” He grins at his joke.  
“It's David Bowie.”   
He shakes his head. “Not a clue.”  
“Are you seriously telling me you don't know who Bowie is?”   
He shakes his head.   
“Please tell me you at least know Queen?”  
He furrows his brow, then shrugs.   
“Christ, not even Bohemian Rhapsody?”  
“Sorry, what?”  
“Fucking mental.” I run my fingers through my hair. “Don't tell Fiona that, she'd go ballistic.”   
He sighs, sits down on the floor, and curls up in foetal position. “I don't know what I'm going to do, Baz.”  
I frown. I'm terrible at advice. “Just do what you've always done.”  
“What I've always done is to blunder headfirst into everything and hope for the best.”   
I raise my eyebrows. “Honestly? Not surprised.”  
He scowls at me.   
“You’ve just got to hope that everything will turn out alright. More often than not, it does.”  
“Merlin Baz, you're like Churchill,” he says, drily.  
“The fact you know who Churchill is, but not Bowie, is deeply concerning.”   
He rolls his eyes.   
My phone pings. It's Niall.  
 _hey mate, are u free today? me and dev are going to the pub to grab a drink. i asked Agatha as well, n she said she could come :)_  
“Are you up to doing something today, Snow?”  
He groans.   
“I'll take that as a yes.”


	13. xiii

_Baz_  
It's early evening, so the pub is packed with commuters. Agatha is humming along to the song playing on the speakers. We haven't spoken since she came in.  
“You look nice,” I say. And she does. She always looks nice.  
She tucks a strand of golden hair behind her ear, and smiles awkwardly. “Thank you.”  
Agatha's my girlfriend. She has been, since fourth year, when she kissed me under the weeping willow after the school dance.  
I don't love her, but she’s always knows when something is up with me, and she's a good listener. And we're good together. Her father doesn't like my family, but he likes me, because I'm smart, and because he likes to chat to me about his work. And I go to all her showjumping events with Daphne.  
And Merlin, she's beautiful. There's no denying that. We'll have beautiful kids, and everyone will look at us and think we are a nice, normal family.  
Except I'm gay. I've known since part way through seventh year. I haven't told anyone, but I think Agatha suspects something. And I know exactly how Malcolm will react. He'll shut me out.  
And besides, marrying Agatha is perfect for me. She comes from a wealthy, esteemed family, which is pretty much the unspoken requirements for a Pitch marriage. She's not all that powerful, but I don't mind. I put up with everything, so I can have a nice, secure future, and so someone is carrying on the Pitch line. (Which I honestly think is all my relatives care about.)  
“Who's your friend?” She gestures to Snow.  
He's currently finishing off his second beer, and there's froth on his top lip. I forgot he's probably never had alcohol before. I should probably stop him, before he gets totally shitfaced.  
“Oh, that's Simon. Simon Snow.” Snow looks up at me when he hears his name.  
Agatha's eyes widen. “As in--”  
I nod. “The Mage's son, yeah.”  
“My dad says he's the Chosen One,” she says, looking at him through her lashes.  
“Apparently so.”  
She’s ogling him like he's an attraction at a freak show. He looks up and grins at her with all his irritating dimples, beer froth still all around his mouth.  
Agatha shifts awkwardly in her seat. “Penny said she would be here soon.”  
Snow keeps sneaking glances at Agatha over his glass. He sees I'm watching him, then looks directly at the floor.  
His ears are bright red.  
“Basil, could I have a word?” she says, uncomfortably.  
I look up. Her eyes are filled with tears.  
“Do you want to go somewhere more private?”  
This may sound selfish, but I know exactly what she's going to say, and I don't want to forever associate Hallelujah with this moment. It's just come on on the speakers, and there are a couple of old men at the bar singing along off key.  
I stalk out of the room.  
“Yes?” I say, coolly. It comes out terser than I meant it to.  
“Well…”  
“Oh spit it out, Wellbelove. We both know what you're going to say, anyway.”  
She looks at me, her eyes widened in shock, tears rolling prettily down her cheeks.  
“This is exactly why I can’t do this anymore, Baz! I listen when you want me to, and I try to talk to you when you push everyone away. But you're always so.. angry. I like you, Baz. I like you a lot. But I don't love you. And I know you don’t love me either, so please don't try.”  
I scowl. It hurts more than I thought it would. “Do what you want,” I snap. But this… this is so shit. I mean, I doubt we would've had an amazing marriage. But we were good together. And I was fine with being friends under the pretence of being lovers.  
“I just...I don't want to be someone's happily ever after. I want to be their right now, Baz. What we had..whatever we had was nice. But it wasn't love. And kissing you is like kissing a brick wall. You can't wait for it to be over. I can tell, Baz. I'm not stupid.” She sniffs, and wipes her nose on the cuff of her dress. I pull out my handkerchief. I've never used it, it just looks fancy.  
She smiles gratefully. “You get it, right?”  
I take a deep breath. All my emotions are far too high right now, and I feel stupidly reckless.  
“Agatha?”  
She looks up at me with her big brown eyes. Crowley, she looks tired.  
“I'm gay.”  
It feels nice to finally say it, but my chest is heaving.  
“Oh, “ she says in a small voice.  
“You're the first person I've told.”  
She smiles at me, her cheeks wet with tears. “I thought something was up.” We both laugh quietly.  
She wraps her arms around me tightly. “You better tell me all about him.”  
“Who?”  
She rolls her eyes. “You know. Your crush.”  
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Maybe I don't have one.”  
She shakes her head knowingly. “There's always one.”  
She walks back towards the pub. “Is it your friend?”  
I splutter. “Don't even go there, Agatha.”  
She laughs. I feel weirdly relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you loved reading that chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it! i love agatha and baz's friendship :)


	14. xiv

_Baz_  
It’s almost nine. I nudge Snow.   
“Guess what day it is.”  
“I don't know, Pancake Day?”  
I roll my eyes.   
“June 21st.”  
“It was my birthday the whole day, and no-one told me? That's cruel. That's really cruel.”   
“I wanted it to a surprise,” I say, smirking.  
He gives my arm a feeble punch. I retaliate by kicking his shin under the table. He yelps.   
“No fighting, boys!” Agatha says, half asleep.  
“So does that mean it's… its the festival today?”  
I nod.  
“Merlin, Baz, I forgot he has a whole festival.” Agatha says, staring at Snow. “So much for being accepted into LCB being a big achievement.”   
I slap her hand. “It _is_.”  
“Guys!” she calls over to Dev and Niall. They're glued to the football. “Are you going to the festival tonight?”  
Niall shakes his head. “I need to pack for Ireland.”  
Dev doesn't say anything.   
“We should go now if we want to get good places,” I say.   
“You're going to the London one, right?” Agatha says.  
I nod. “It's the best one.”  
Agatha raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Ambitious.”


	15. xv

_Simon_  
As we rush down a second escalator, through a packed and rowdy Underground, all I can think about is the Mage. I think it was five days ago now that we had an argument. It was the same one we always have. He was sitting in his old squashy leather armchair whilst I gave him my magic. I’ve been giving him magic for as long as I can remember. He says he needs it, to be able to run the World of Mages properly. I never questioned him.  
I can tell that it’s painful. He always winces at first, and there’s usually a scorch mark on his skin when I take my hand off, but he’s never complained.  
I’d asked him if I could go see the lanterns on my birthday. He scoffed.  
“Why would you want to see the lanterns?”  
“Well… they’re go up on my birthday, ever year. I don’t know, I always thought they were for me.”  
The Mage smiled at me patronisingly, and shook his head. “Simon, they’re just for some stupid hippie festival. I’m sorry, but they’re not for you.”  
“Can’t I go anyway? I’m turning eighteen… and well, I thought I could go out just this once? I wouldn’t need to go far, just a couple of minutes.”  
I hold my breath.  
He looks at me, and I know exactly what he’s going to say.  
I cut him off before he can. “Please, sir? I could take my sword, if it would really make you feel better? And I know lots of defensive spells.”  
He shakes his head.  
“Simon, we’ve had this conversation before--”  
“Yes, but I wasn’t turning eighteen then!”  
“I've told you before, the world is too dangerous!” He raises his voice angrily.  
“Well why am I fighting monsters every day then? I must be good for something! I must be able to defend myself pretty well by now!” I could feel my hands starting to crackle with magic, but I didn’t try to push it down.  
“Simon, you have no idea what the world is like--”  
“And who's fault is that?” The air is thick with my magic now. I was so angry. I always seemed to be angry then.  
“I know that you're angry, but you have to be patient. You know why you stay in this tower. People want to use your magic for evil things. You'll see the world soon enough,”  
“You say that every time. Every bloody time.”  
“Simon--”  
“Go. Just fucking go.”  
He got up and dusted himself down. He was fuming, I could tell, because his lips always go really thin, until only his moustache remains. He walked so swiftly out of the tower that for a second I was scared that he wasn’t go to cast any magic, he was just going to jump.  
As Baz is consulting the Tube Map, a hand grabs my shoulder. I turn around quickly. It’s the Mage.  
“Simon!” he says, and he’s got a big cheery smile on his face. It looks wrong, and fake. I pull away from his grip, eyes wide. I look back at Baz, but they station is so packed and noisy that he hasn't even noticed. The Mage grabs my hand. “We're going home, Simon.” He tugs at my wrist.  
But I hold firm. “No, sir.”  
He sighs. “Simon, you're at major risk. Out here, anything could attack you at any moment, vampires, werewolves, goblins. Anyone with a bone to pick with the mages. And you know who they'll go straight to? The most powerful one. I can deal with threats, but you--”  
“Well, they haven't attacked me yet,” I say, defiantly.  
“I've always done what's best for you, Simon. Always. And I think you need to--”  
“No.”  
The Mage is so distracted with his speech that he doesn't hear me. “You know how I hate it when you interrupt me, Simon.”  
“I said no. _Sir_. I'm not coming home. Nothing's attacked me yet, and I'm pretty sure nothing will. I've done so much in a day, more than I’ve done in seventeen years in that tower. I've met a boy, and I think he likes me--”  
The Mage scoffs. “What, that Pitch boy? You really believe that _he_ likes you? This is why you should never have come out before I let you. You're so bloody naïve. Just wait. Just you wait, he'll double-cross you in the blink of an eye, and then he'll pounce. Don't kid yourself, Simon, do you really think he's here for you? Look at yourself. Do you think he's impressed?” he snaps, cruelly. “He can smell your magic, and like a moth to a flame, he came running.” I thought he was casting a spell then, and winced. **Moth to a flame** is a following spell, and a horrible one at that.  
“And mark my words, Simon, don't come crying when he does. I won't bother to say I told you so.”  
And then he's gone, disappeared into the bustling crowd. It's almost as if he were never there.  
“You okay, Snow?” Baz says, looking up from his phone.  
I nod slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”  
Tears threaten my eyes.  
We board the train with an increasing sense of unease building in my stomach.


	16. xvi

_the Mage_  
I go straight to Covent Garden. I need to be quick if I want this to work.   
The pub is as seedy as I last remember it- paint and old gig posters peeling off the walls, damp spreading across the ceiling, the musty old smell. I'm constantly surprised how disorganised the Dark creatures really are- whatever the Old Families tell me. Honestly, if they got themselves a decent leader they could have a shot at proper revolution. (Not that I want that, obviously.) But they decide to hang out in places like this instead, and wonder why the mages are still at the top of the hierarchy.   
When I come in, the low hum of chatter dulls to silence. I can feel every eye in the room boring into me like blunt daggers. “Gentlemen,” I begin, rubbing my hands on my trousers. I hate vampires. “I have a job for somebody, or somebodies, whoever is willing to take it. I'd pay you well.”   
Ears prick up at the sound of _pay you well_. Two in the corner stand up and approach me. They're both big and hulking, with greying skin and reddish hair. They look like twins, except that one has a scar stretching his right eyebrow to the corner of his lip. They tower over me like stone statues, and I straighten up. I'm surprised no-one has attacked me already. Although, it's probably to do with the fact that they were a bit surprised that I just walked in here and started demanding things. And that they're desperate and greedy.  
“We want in,” one of them says, in a deep growl of a voice. “But we want the money upfront.” Trust vampires to be distrustful. I fish a couple of ten pound notes out of my pockets. “There’s more coming,” I say.  
And they stare at me intently for a while, but it seems they've bought it. I make to leave- the smell is really starting to get to me. (I hope it's not gotten into my clothes, this is a brand new jersey.)  
“What’s the job?”  
I smile grimly to myself. “Saving the Chosen One.”  
From _himself_. Simon Snow is a safety hazard, a bomb liable to go off at any moment. Never mind the Humdrum, he needs to be saved from himself. I thought I had raised Simon as well as I could’ve done. But he's broken. Crowley, he's so broken, and I have no idea how to fix him. How does one go about fixing the Chosen One? He’s so young, and so powerful. Morgana, he's so powerful. I wish I could take all the responsibility off his shoulders.I don't know what to do. I just know that it was better when he was there, back in the tower. Safe. With me, under my thumb, when I always knew where he was and what he was doing. Not out gallivanting with some Pitch boy probably filling his head with all sorts of rubbish.   
How do I fix Simon Snow?


	17. xvii

_Simon_  
As soon as we walk out of Waterloo Station every hint of unease has disappeared. I am caught up in the bustle of the crowds and the little stalls selling neon flashing things, and children holding sparklers.  
It's so free here. There's so much space to move, even with all the people rushing out of the station. Merlin, I could run around this city and never get tired. I feel so alive.  
Baz hands me a little plastic tube.  
“Crack it,” he says, mysteriously.  
I do, and neon liquid spills all down my jeans.  
“Crowley Snow, not that hard! Are you trying to get chemical poisoning?” he barks. But he hands me another one, and I crack it again, softer this time.  
It lights up bright orange. Wicked.  
“They're not even magic, either,” he says, watching me trying to crack them all at once, and failing miserably.  
He buys me a little orange flag with a blue sun on it (it's the symbol of the festival), and then we have cinnamon sugar pretzels while we watch the fireworks. It's getting darker quickly, but you can barely tell with all of the lights everyone's holding.  
Someone's started a tune going, and soon everyone's humming it. One man brings out- of all things- a harmonica, and starts playing. Soon, the square is filled with people dancing. I stand up, glancing down at Baz. He stays firmly in his seat.  
“Come on, Baz!” I shout about the music.  
He shakes his head. “Unless we're talking a waltz, no thanks.”  
But I grab his arm firmly and yank him up. “I guess we're waltzing then!”  
He rolls his eyes, but he's smiling.  
“Would you do me the honour of being my partner for this dance?” I say, in the swankiest voice I can manage, bowing my head and proffering my hand like they do in the movies.  
“It would be my pleasure,” Baz says. And for once, he says it like he means it.  
The music has slowed to a beautiful song, I think someone has used **music to my ears**. I used to love that spell, the Mage used it to get me to sleep when I had especially bad nightmares.  
But I can't think about the Mage now. Especially when Baz is here, in my arms, guiding me through the dance, his hand in mine. And it’s the only thing I care about right now. The boy who saved me. The boy who I'd learned to hate for so many years, without even knowing him. The boy holding me right now, looking into my eyes like he could never look away.  
It doesn't feel awkward or weird. It just feels...natural. The rhythm of the dance and the slow beat of the music washes me away, until all I can see is Baz, and the bright lights of the distance.  
His eyes are like the sky before a rainstorm- grey with streaks of black and little hints of blue, framed by long, dark lashes and arched eyebrows.  
The song ends, and it picks up the pace again, but we stay where we are for a moment, holding each other close. I should probably let go. I don't want him to think I'm weird. But I can't, and I don't know why. He’s like this one little thing that I have, and if I let go of him, even for a split second, everything will fall away like dust off a mantelpiece.

 

_Baz_  
I'm a fool. I know I am. But he's standing here, right in front of me, with his golden skin and rosy cheeks, his mouth hanging slightly open, holding onto me for dear life, and it's hard not to fall for him. His eyes are so blue, filled with wonder and the green and blue and red and gold of the lights.  
My mind is screaming at me. He’s the Mage’s heir, for Merlin’s sake. But now he’s here, caught up in the wonder of the lights and the music, I realise he’s just a boy. Not a monster, not the Mage’s machine I was prepared to hate, but a boy. A little broken, but I can’t help that.  
He’s glowing, like some divine presence, and Merlin and Morgana and Methuselah, he looks so beautiful. Glowing with life and light, like the fight’s not over yet. Crowley, I could look into his eyes and pretend it had never started. I know people are looking, but for once in my life, I don't care. Simon Snow isn’t just alive anymore, he’s living. I could shout it from the rooftops.  
Another song begins, but it’s different this time. The music stops and everyone stands up. It’s a children’s song, so everyone knows the words.

“ _When the battle’s halfway lost,_  
_Before there's a chance to run,_  
_The Chosen One will save us all_  
_Like the blazing of the sun_

_When we're one against another,_  
_And the world has lost its way,_  
_He'll come and overthrow him_  
_He’ll come and save the day_

_With magic like no other man_  
_Drawing power from the earth_  
_Unmatched by all on on land and sea_  
_From the moment of his birth_

_When the fight’s almost over,_  
_And the song is almost sung,_  
_Evil will be defeated_  
_The Chosen One has won._ ”

When they finish, there’s a moment of silence, and then everyone starts clapping and whistling. Hundreds of people, all singing for Snow- he looks mesmerised.  
“They’re going to start lighting the lanterns soon.” I say to him. He glances at me and grins his stupid, brilliant smile.  
“Come on, Snow.”  
“Where- where are you going?”  
“Well, it’s the best day of your life. I figured you should have a decent seat.”  
I walk down the stairs from the Southbank, onto the beach. Snow is frozen, staring at amber sun slipping below the skyline above the old skate park.  
“You coming, Snow?”  
He turns and nods.  
The Thames is so clear I’m sure someone’s spelled it. I pay the boat man and drag the boat to the shoreline. Snow gets in, worriedly.  
“Don’t panic,” I say. “The worst than can happen is you falling in.”  
He rolls his eyes. “Thanks for the comfort.”  
“My pleasure,” I say, stepping in carefully so as not to get my jeans wet. “ **Off we go**!”  
And as we shoot away from the shoreline, suddenly everything seems so far away. The people, the city, the war, the Humdrum, all the pressure that the Old Families have been piling on me these past few years. All of it seems so small and insignificant, as I watch Snow lie on the bottom of the boat, gazing at the cold blue sky.  
“Baz?”  
“Yeah?”  
“It’s just.. I’ve been waiting- dreaming of this moment for eighteen years, imagining what it would be like. What if it’s not everything I thought it would be?”  
“It will be.”  
“And what if it is? What do I do then?”  
I look at him, raising my eyebrows.  
“Be the Chosen One.”  
He shakes his head and sighs, resting his head on the seat.  
“Look,” I whisper to Snow. In the distance, a small amber lantern floats into the sky.  
He springs up, and the boat jolts unsteadily.  
“For snakes’ sake, Snow! Are you trying to capsize us?” I say, sardonically. But it is beautiful. Thousands of lanterns, burning brightly against the darkening sky, reflected in the water so that it almost feels like the boat is floating in the heavens, and we’re watching stars being born.  
“Merlin,” he breathes.

 

_Simon_  
It’s like the sky is new, thousands upon thousands of lights, surrounding me like burning suns. I turn back to Baz, and he’s holding a pair of lanterns, like he’s just summoned them out of thin air. A small yellow flame appears in his palm,  
“Shit, Baz!” I leap away from him, jogging the boat.  
He lights both of the lanterns, “It would be helpful if you didn’t make me set the boat alight too. I wasn’t planning to turn this into a Viking funeral.”  
“I’d kill you if you died.”  
He hands me a lantern, and cocks an eyebrow cryptically. He’s like a more pretentious version of Paul Hollywood. And that’s saying something.  
“Your dastardly plan seems to have a few flaws in it, Snow.”  
I shove him gently.  
He makes a face like he’s in excruciating pain. “Oi! You don’t actually want me to get burnt to a crisp, do you?”  
The lanterns float gently in the air, encircling each other, and we watch them drift away until they join the crowd of lights, and we can’t see them anymore. 

_Baz_  
He’s so close to me, I can see the faint freckles on his nose. He smells like cinnamon, and a hundred other warm, welcoming things I can’t name. It’s so hard to resist him when he’s like this, right in front of me. I could just kiss him. I could do it right now. But all I can think about is how he would flinch, and stare at me the way he did the first time I left his tower.  
I can't do that to myself. I can't lose you, Simon Snow. 


	18. xviii

_Baz_

When we finally moor the boat, it's past midnight. The city seems so much darker now. Snow is relentlessly drilling me on Watford. It's getting on my nerves a bit. I don't want to talk about Watford, not now, not with him, especially when every conversation seems to lead to the Mage.

"So....your room is in Mummer's House?"

"Yes."

"And...who's your roommate?"

" _Roommates_. The Crucible didn't pair me with anyone--"

"The Crucible?"

I sigh. "It's what pairs you with your roommate when you come to Watford. They gather all the first years round this big bonfire at the start of the year, and they put the Crucible in the bonfire, and then the magic pulls you towards someone. The person the Crucible puts you with is meant to watch out for you at Watford--"

"Like a soulmate?"

I cringe. "...I guess."

"So...you didn't get paired with anyone?"

I shake my head. "There's an uneven number in my year, even though there's never been an uneven number. So the Mage put me in Dev and Niall's room. He was just trying to be petty...trying to get back at my family for something or other that they said. But it backfired completely. Dev is my cousin, is hates the Mage almost as much as I do, and Niall was wavering, so it was easy to convince him. We pranked him so many times in first year." I laugh. "There was this one time that we managed spell his office door so that every time it sounded like a banshee screaming every time someone walked in."

"That was you? The Mage was in a bad mood for a week. He shouted at me for breathing too loudly, 'cause of his headache."

I have no idea why I told him that. I told myself I wouldn't tell anyone that. I'm just spewing everything on my mind, forgetting who I'm talking to. I'm never like this.

It's just something about him. He's like fire, willing you to lean in closer, burning so brightly and so beautifully that it hurts.

Snow scrunches his nose up and frowns. I think I might hate him. Crowley, I know I should.

 

_Simon_

I wish he didn't talk about the Mage like that. Like he's some evil monster or something. I mean, yeah, I get it, he's not the greatest parent. Well, that's an understatement, I know. I ran away for a reason. But under it all, I know he has good intentions. And...he's my dad. Or the closest thing I have to a parent figure, anyway. I just can't give up on him that easily.

"Something I said?" he says sharply.

I shake my head. "No, it's okay. Well..I don't know. I just wish... I just wish you wouldn't go after the Mage constantly." I feel like he's going after me. I scratch the back of my neck awkwardly. Baz has gone very silent.

"After everything he's done to you, I thought it would be you going after him."

I fiddle with my hands awkwardly. We've almost reached the train station, and it's so dark that I can barely see his face. "I know, but--"

"Merlin, Snow can't you just accept that the Mage is a tosser--"

"He's not!" I shout suddenly, surprising myself. "I know he's been a shitty dad, but he's still my dad. He's the only thing I have Baz. So just...just shut up, would you?"

Baz looks horrified.

 

_Baz_

I can't believe Snow is defending him, after all he's put him through. Talk about brainwashing.

We walk up the stairs to Waterloo in silence. Snow is scowling. He rubs his eyes with his jumper, and promptly bumps into someone.

"Chomsky, look where you're going!" They straighten up. It's Penelope. She leans down and picks something off the floor. It's her glasses. She pokes a finger through one of the frames, looks at me, and sighs.

"It wasn't me who stepped on your glasses!" I snap. "Tell Snow to stop being such a dolt." He glares at me.

"I'm sorry," he says, awkwardly. He does look genuinely sorry. Merlin, he's a charmer.

He takes the glasses, pulls out his wand from his jeans pocket, and hurriedly casts " **Should've gone to Specsavers**!"

Nothing happens. And then a jet of bright green shoots out his wand into his eyes, and he has to blink away the tears. I snort. Penelope winces. "You're holding your wand the wrong way round."

Snow goes extremely red. "Oh...yeah. Uh..sorry..I'll just--"

She takes them back and grins at him. "Tired?"

He nods.

"Could we hurry this up?" I say, impatiently. "This little mother's meeting we've got going here is delightful, but we need to get going. I don't want us to miss the train."

She gives me a hard stare. "Calm down, Basil. I was only trying to be polite."

"Uh...you two know each other?" Snow says.

"Simon Snow, Penelope Bunce," I say tiredly, checking my watch again. The minutes are ticking by.

"Holy shit, you're...as in Simon Snow, the Mage's Heir? His secret son?"

Snow starts to go red again. "Is this- is this common knowledge?"

"Well no, but my mum's on the Coven, so I get to know about these things. Actually, it was hard not to find out. She ranted all day about you and the Mage after...well, you know."

He scratched his head. "Oh, right."

"Can we have this conversation on the train?" I walk off towards the platform. I just want to get home. Everytime he smiles it reminds me how completely stupid I'm being.

I hear Penelope sigh, and follow me.


	19. xix

_Baz_

We manage to get onto the train just as the doors are closing, even though Snow almost trips down the platform gap. There's some guy humming along loudly to a song on his headphones sitting next to me, and it's getting on my nerves. Penny's fiddling with the zips on her anorak, and Snow is running his hands through his stupid curls like he's getting paid for it, tapping his shoe on the floor until I shoot him a glare.

That's when the train shrieks to a stop so suddenly I half lurch into the seat in front of me. I give Penny a sideways glance- she looks worried. Everyone turns to each other in confusion. Minutes pass in almost silence, listening for an announcement to ring out, so I can breathe a sigh of relief. Snow looks totally oblivious. I know I shouldn't be so paranoid- it's probably just been delayed from rail engineering works or something. But after the years of attacks on Watford, the amount of times that the school has almost been closed, despite the Mage's pathetic 'attempts' to try do something, it's like my brain's been trained to be constantly on edge, ready to switch into fight or flight mode at the slightest disturbance. It's the silence that's getting to me. It's like the silence in the Catacombs- I can hear every breath I take. No-one seems to be worried, they just seem to be...silent. Frozen.

And then the train starts to shake. Slowly at first, so that if it weren't for the creaking and groaning of the wheels I wouldn't've noticed it. Then faster, until we're stumbling side to side. But no-one is speaking, no-one is shouting, no-one is demanding to know what's going on. In a way it's a relief, it gives me time to think, and also to worry. But it's eerie. Simon and Penny and I are the only ones who seem to be awake, from what I can see. Everyone in the carriage is glassy-eyed, leaning over onto each other, like someone has cast a sleep spell. A piercing noise breaks through the aching whine of the train, the sound of someone rubbing a wet finger round a glass rim. The train windows start to quiver, and suddenly something snaps and everything starts screaming, herding into the centre of the train. The sound is getting into my head, overtaking my brain, muddling my thoughts.

And then it stops, as suddenly as it started. I open my eyes just in time to catch the windows melt away like they're made of ice. But as soon as the first noise stopped, another noise begins; a loud thrumming this time. It sounds like a swarm.

"Everyone get down!" someone yells. But it sounds distant, like the thrumming sound is diluting all other noise, leeching the energy out of the world. There's a loud thump, and I look behind me. The entire carriage has collapsed onto the floor like some new-age version of Sleeping Beauty, except for about half a dozen people staring worriedly around them plus me, Penny and Simon. I can hear them murmuring: _Humdrum_ seems to be a recurring theme. I guess Normals can't handle the Humdrum. Messes with their minds, like it messes with our magic.

And then I start to feel it. The dry, scratching feeling that gets under your skin, tugging behind your fingertips, leaving you helpless. The room starts to blur, and I rub my eyes, but I don't think it's my vision. The screaming has come back, and I have to check that it's not me. I glance over at Snow quickly. He looks terrified, gripping onto Penny's arm for dear life.

Everyone reaches for something simultaneously: most pull out wands, someone even brings out a fancy wristwatch and starts muttering protection spells. I instinctively reach for my wand as well, even though I know it won't be any good. I just like having it in my hand, to calm my nerves.

Suddenly, everything seems to focus on a certain spot, all the thrumming and screeching, and my vision's sharp again except for that one spot. The spot is in the seat opposite me, where Snow was sitting. Everyone points their magickal instruments towards the spot with shaking arms. There are mutters of _police_ and _Mage's Men_. Even through my thrashing headache and everything that's going on right now, I have to hold back a snort. The Mage's Men aren't on call, at least not like that. They're not _Ghostbusters_. What would they do, anyway? Bore the Humdrum to death?

And then the pain in my jaw starts, the kind that I have to put up with when I haven't fed for a couple of days. A dull, aching pain, sometimes stabbing. It feels like a hand has reached up from my stomach and is scratching at my throat with long talon-like fingernails. _Not now. Please, not now._ I only fed last night. It's coming on so quickly, far faster than it usually does. I'm shivering- I get cold much faster when I'm thirsty. When I was in third year, and I had just first got my bloodlust, I used to creep down to the Watford kitchens in the middle of the night, and try to sleep by the dying embers in the grade, just to try and get a bit warmer. (My magic is always shit when I'm thirsty, as I discovered the hard way.) Cook Pritchard would wake me up in the early hours and send me back to my room, so no-one would suspect anything. (She knew about it, I think. Or she assumed. Now I think about it, she was probably a Pitch. Never one to ask questions.) It never bothered her. The next year, she gave me the keys to the kitchen.

" _Just in case_ ," she'd said, winking. She didn't mind that I stole from the pantry constantly, so I know she must've liked me.

I can feel my fangs pop, and I have to stare at the floor, because I can't let anyone know. I have to constantly remind myself of the shit they'd do to me, if anyone found out. I'm desperately trying to get them to retract, but I feel like I'm losing grip. The thirst is taking over, and I feel giddy. I swear to Stevie Nicks, if I faint in front of Bunce and Snow, I'm going to wring their necks like dishcloths. I wince. That's given me a very vivid image of me putting my fangs in their necks, and I'm reminded of how full of blood everyone is. Most of them are unconscious. _They wouldn't even know_.

I'm tempted to throw myself out of one of the train windows.

_Simon_

Baz is shaking, staring at the floor. I reach out to his shoulder, to ask if he's okay, but he recoils before I can touch him, like he can sense my hand.

Everyone's wands are pointed at the spot where I was seated a few moments ago, towards a pulsing white light. It's growing quickly, taller and wider. My hands are shaking violently, gripping my wand so tightly I'm scared I might snap it.The light forms a human shape. It burns so brightly, it's almost painful to look at.

And then it solidifies, until I'm looking at...me.

An eleven year old me, with baggy jeans and a gross t-shirt and freshly shaved hair. My too pale face and the purple bags under my eyes, and the poxy moles scattered over my face and arms. He smiles at me, too red and raw for my skinny face. It looks wrong. I grimace.

"Simon..." Penny utters. "That's..that's you."

"Stop wearing my face!" I shout. I can feel everyone on the train staring at me, eyes boring into the back of my head. "Show yourself!" But he...it just smiles again, like it knows something I don't. "Come on!" I shout. "Show yourself!"

I summon the Sword of Mages under my breath, and shove my wand in my back pocket. I've always been more comfortable with a sword, even though it usually just goes straight through most of the things I fight without hurting them.

The scratching feeling has got inside my mouth, drying up my throat. I keep coughing.

"We need to get out!" someone shouts. I can hear people talking in hushed tones rapidly behind me. People run towards the windows, stumbling out over the tracks, clumsily performing levitating spells, looking back at the train in terror.

But I know I can't leave. I have to finish this. This is what I was meant to do. I barely know what this thing- what this Humdrum is, but I've been training all my life to kill it. I guess I have the right to have a hero complex.

"Baz!" Penny calls desperately. He's rasping now, crouching on the floor and shivering. Penny reaches for him. "Baz, we've got to go." She looks at me pityingly, unsure whether she should leave me here or drag me along. He shoves her off, so hard she lands on the other side of the carriage.

"Go," he says gruffly. She looks panicked, but stays in her place.

"Go!" he says again, louder, his voice rough and harsh. She shoots me a look, and lets out a hacking cough.

"Go, Penny," I say. "He'll be okay. Trust me."

Her cheeks are wet with tears, and blood is streaming from her pores. She scarpers, staggering out the window and across the tracks. The Humdrum watches all of this play out from his seat, throwing that stupid red ball in the air that the Mage gave me when I was eleven in an effort to try improve my hand-eye coordination. The same one I threw out of the tower a few months after when was pissed off with him.

"Show yourself!" I shout again, desperately. "Stop wearing my face!"

"This is myself," he says. He has my voice, my eleven year old voice. It's unnerving.

I can't think. The clawing in my gut has got so strong it's making me giddy, and my limbs are heavy and useless like deadwood.

_Baz_

I can feel my magic draining out of my fingertips thick and fast. It's hard to not start panting like a dog, but that would make me feel even dizzier guaranteed, and Lord knows I would look like a fool.

I'm so thirsty. The air seems to be tinged red, like it's stained with blood. I can smell it coming off him in waves. Blood. Magic. Blood.

He's so full, and I'm so empty, and it would be so easy to drain him. I need it. I think I'm going to die. The room seems to be getting darker. He'd be easy to kill. He's swaying slightly, barely more alive than I am.

"Look at you both," the Humdrum laughs. It's a hollow, tin can sort of laugh, nothing like Snow's.

Snow raises his arm again, his sword shaking. I don't know where the sword came from. He sort of pulled it out of nowhere, like a rabbit out of a hat. It's rather hard to keep something like a sword discreet, I would've thought. The nape of his neck and his ears are flushed, like they do when he gets nervous. He's so full of blood.

"What are you," Snow grunts. The Humdrum doesn't bat an eyelid, even though Snow holds the sword level with its neck. I doubt it's corporeal, anyway.

"I'm you," it laughs again. Snow holds the sword higher, like he's planning to plunge it between its eyes. "At least, I'm what's left over when you're finished."

I feel my limbs start to move towards him, and I honestly don't know if it's me controlling myself. This is getting harder and harder. Like holding on in a hurricane.

"What are you talking about?" Snow growls.

"Simon," I say, weakly. My voice is a hoarse whisper. "Simon, get away from me."

"Everyone calls me the monster." says the Humdrum. He sounds almost upset. "But it's you who takes. They call you the Chosen One, but it's all a lie...You're the monster. You, and him."

Snow's head whips round to me. "Baz...Baz isn't a monster."

"Simon...get away from me," I whisper. Black spots have starting dancing at the edges of my visions, and it feels like I'm seeing everything through a red filter. I don't know if he's seen my fangs. "He drains your magic, Simon. We need to go." It's not the greatest explanation, but it's the best I can manage right now.

"What do you mean?" Snow says. He growls again. I'm not sure if he's talking to me or the Humdrum.

"I'm so empty," it says. "All the time. So much magic, but I'm always empty."

"Simon," I say again, feebly.

"What did you do him?" he shouts."You took his magic. How did you do that? How can you take his magic?"

"I didn't take anything." says the Humdrum, in his empty, cold Simon voice. "I gave him what I had. He had something, so much something. And I have nothing. I just gave him some of my nothing."

Simon growls again, pacing, taking long, clumsy strides down the train aisle. I imagine he's not used to this. Not being able to fight something.

"I need magic," I utter, hoarsely. "Snow, let me take your magic." I reach out a limp arm. Snow places a firm hand on my shoulder, though I can see the fear in his eyes, and the way he walks, as though his legs weigh a hundred pounds.

"Take it, Baz. You know you can have it." He presses his hand against me harder, scrunching his eyes closed.

He's so full of magic.

And suddenly so am I.

Everything seems sharper now, except for the Humdrum. It's fading, blowing away like dust in a sandstorm. Snow hasn't noticed. His eyes are wide and blue, fixed on me. He looks terrified.

It feels like flames licking up my veins, dancing across my chest. This is fire. I know what to do with fire.

It's like a whole solar system, magic welling up inside me as far as the eye can see and further.

I feel bottomless. No, centreless.

" **Doe, a deer** ," I cast. I can see the air shimmering around me. Is this what it feels to be Simon Snow? To have the whole universe in your top pocket?

I doubt there will be any deer nearby, but it was worth a shot. Just to show off. There are probably rats or foxes, or something. Snow shakes his head, utterly confused. Glad to know he hasn't figured my murderous secret out, then. 

"Come on, Snow," I say, skirting elegantly out the open window."If this spot isn't dying already, it soon will be." 

"You called me Simon before." 

"No I didn't," I say, smiling to myself, as if this hasn't been one hell of a night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was hell to write, i hope you enjoyed it!


	20. xx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> omg guys i'm so sorry, i forgot to post a chapter! that must have been so confusing!!! :/ oh dear  
> posting this without html rn becaus it's hella effort

Simon  
We stagger through the dark streets of flats, listening to the yowling cats fighting on top of rotting fences. Baz is walking briskly, carefully avoiding the water collecting in puddles on the pavement to keep his posh shoes pristine.  
I can't stop thinking about what happened on the train. The air is freezing, but I don't think that's why I'm shaking. It- it was me. Almost me, except for its voice. That low, leeching drawl. Almost mechanical.  
I feel like the memory is already fading from my mind, but I remember Baz. How he shook on the floor, how when he looked at me, his pupils were blown wide with fear. It made me terrified just to see him like that. His usual cool composure gone in an instant.   
I'm scared I imagined it, and I'm not going to bring it up in case I hallucinated the whole thing completely. But I'm sure- pretty sure, I saw something. On the train. I was too wrapped up in the whole thing at the time to think about it, with the Humdrum, and me giving Baz my fucking magic, but I swear...I don't know I'd I want to think about it. Baz can be a complete tosser, but he's the only friend I have.  
The Mage taught me about Dark Creatures ever since I was young. I knew he wanted me to fight them- Hell, he's made me fight them from when I was nine. When I was eleven, he let a dragon loose in the tower, just to see how I would cope. Said he'd led it all the way from a special menagerie in Croydon. I don't know why he puts all those protection spells on the tower every month when he leads the creatures right to me. "Practice" is the most I'll get, if anything. For what, he never told me. I still don't understand why he didn't tell me about the Humdrum. It doesn't make any sense. Nothing makes any sense.   
The other thing that keeps resurfacing when I push it to the back of my mind is the way Baz took my magic. I mean, obviously I knew I could give it, with the Mage and all, and in the heat of the moment I didn't even think of the consequences- when I first gave my magic to the Mage, it was like my hand was stuck to his skin. Even when he was full to bursting with magic, more just kept flowing in, and my hand stayed stuck to his wrist until he spelled it off. He had a proper burn mark, a raw, ugly red that haunted my nightmares for weeks. That was the first time I heard him swear.   
But Baz just took it. He didn't even wince. And it felt...smoother, somehow. With the Mage it feels like I'm rubbing my flesh against a cheese grater.   
Baz is walking so fast, and I have a stitch. I thought I was fit- I do proper workouts, and fighting everyday, I can't believe I can't jog for five minutes.

Baz   
There's blood everywhere. Left in little glistening smears on the pavements, mixing with the rainwater. I can feel it trickling from my face, staining my nice white shirt. Seeping out my pores, down my face like rusty tears. I need to ditch Snow, just for a minute or two, find a couple of rats or something. Something nice and small and convenient to dispose of.  
"Baz!" he whisper-shouts. "Slow down!"   
I glance back at him. He's hobbling along, clutching his side and shivering, looking thoroughly miserable.

Simon  
His face is a mess of blood. So is mine, I know, but it's worse to see him like that.  
I have no idea why we're bleeding from our pores; some kind of weird Humdrum superpower I guess.  
He actually stops, though.  
"I'm fucking bleeding. Why am I bleeding?" he mutters, wiping blood onto a posh lace hankie he takes out of his pocket. Everything about him is fancy.  
"Clean as a whistle," he casts, but as soon as the blood magicks away, more takes his place. It's flowing in his eye. "Get well soon!"   
That doesn't do anything. He swears again, and staggers a bit, before sitting down on the wet pavement. Did the Humdrum curse him, or something?   
He's firing spells at himself so fast and so desperately that I start to get scared. If anything, the spells are making the blood come faster now, and he's sounding a but frantic, even if he's trying to hide it.  
"Baz," I say, "Stop it. You're only making it worse."  
"You don't think I don't fucking know that, Snow?" he snarls between casting.  
"Can I--"  
"--Shut up, Snow."  
"Just let me--"  
"Look, fuck off, will you?"  
"Baz! Shut the fuck up, alright?" And to my surprise, he actually does. He looks tired, so tired, and his skin looks grey and sickly, and he's looking up at me with his eyes like dull iron. It hasn't even been half an hour since the Humdrum. It's just one thing after another tonight, isn't it?  
"Look, uh, don't freak out, yeah?" He glares at me.  
"Right, uh." I scrunch my eyes closed and focus. I haven't done this in a long while.  
It's the Mage's spell, that he made for me, out of some old fairy tale book he made me read.   
"Context, Simon," he'd said. "Context is key."  
He made it so that I could heal the burns my magic gave him. Magickal injuries take way longer to heal- and they're usually way more painful. And I imagine he couldn't run the World of Mages looking like he'd just been in a scuffle with a fire demon.  
It's the only spell I've ever really been good at. I'm decent enough at defensive and aggressive spells, after years of the Mage berating me to stop using my sword. He just stopped bringing corporeal things after a while. Said I was being stupid.  
I don't know why my magic is the way it is. Why it goes off like a bomb, instead of flowing through me like a fucking stream or however it works for everyone else, leaving the tower shaking and unstable.The Mage's magic is calming and smooth, and smells of the   
woodland. (Though when he's angry, it turns swampish and suffocating.)  
When I open my eyes, my hands are glowing gold. I place them on either side of Baz's head. He flinches, but doesn't pull away.  
"Flower, gleam and glow, let your power shine. Make the clock reverse." I pause. It's oddly silent, and I hate the sound of my voice. I drive myself crazy sometimes, alone in the tower. You have to say it slowly, let the magic soak in, otherwise it won't work.  
"Bring back what once was mine, what once was mine." Baz has relaxed under my hands. His skin is smooth and even again.   
He reaches up to his face and runs his fingers over the healed, unbroken skin, checking for blood. "Crowley," he murmurs. "What the fuck, Snow."

Baz   
He's glowing. He's fucking glowing again, golden light running through him like he's an angel. I've never heard that spell before. They tend to be short so people can remember them. I swear, it's like he just said the words and made them magic. Like a genie.  
I cast out, out damn spot on my shirt so Daphne doesn't have a fit when she sees me. I feel faint, and I'm not surprised.   
"Stay here," I say, and I get up, light-headed.  
"Baz, you need to sit down," he says, so forcefully that I almost do. "You've lost a lot of blood."  
I nod, and it makes me feel dizzy. "Exactly," I say. And I run off into the darkness, my limbs jerking awkwardly, head pounding, fists clenched to try to distract myself from the pain in my jaw.   
"Baz!" he calls out, huddled under the limp light of the street lamp.  
By the time he casts let there be light, I've ducked into a back alley, and he can't see me anymore.


	21. xxi

_Simon_  
I don’t know how long it’s been. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. I can feel the crushing tiredness forcing my eyelids closed, and I have to pinch myself to stay awake. It’s fucking freezing, and I’m shivering through the thin fabric of my jumper.  
I have no idea where he is. I’ve called his name several times, increasingly desperately, but to no avail. I don’t want to move, in case he comes back and doesn’t know where I’ve gone. I just wish he’d told me where he was going. He just ran off into the dark the second I’d let go of him, still dizzy from blood loss. And he’s been acting weird since the train.  
I...This is stupid, but I’m starting to wonder if everything he said was true. The Mage, I mean. That I should’ve stayed in the tower. This night started out so perfectly, but it’s turning out to be an absolute nightmare, what with the Humdrum and everything. If, like Baz said, it’s existed for around twenty years now, why did it never find me in my tower?  
I’m not sure if I’m imagining it, but I swear it’s getting lighter. I know it was already pretty late when we arrived back from the Festival, and the thing on the train must’ve taken a while, but it can’t seriously be morning already.  
I try to push the anxieties bubbling in my stomach further down. Baz will be back soon. He will.  
But he doesn’t. And before I know it, I’m opening my eyes to the bustling London streets and the strange, sharp noises. Everything hurts. I’m so fucking freezing. My teeth are chattering, and there are goosebumps all up my arms and legs.  
“Baz?” I croak. My throat hurts. People are staring.  
Someone’s crouching down beside me. "You alright love?"  
I nod and stand up a bit too quickly. The lights of this city are too bright. I’m used to the muted morning sunlight that filters through the shutters, and the warm lights of candles.  
“Baz!” I call out.  
But my voice is drowned out by the noise of this ever-moving city. He said not to move, but now he's gone, he's fucking gone and I don't know what to do. Right now, I honestly wish I was back in the tower, with its three small rooms and proper heating system.  
I feel a bit manic, honestly, running up and down the street, muttering to myself. People are starting to stare. _Stop, Simon. Someone is going to report you to the police._  
I wish I had a phone. This would make everything so much easier.  
_What the fuck am I going to do?_  
I have no idea where I am, stuck in the middle of a city that I don't know, not able to contact anyone. This is shit. This is so shit Simon, Merlin, why the fuck did you get yourself into-  
There's a tap on my shoulder. I jump so high that I think I see stars. 

"Snow?" someone says.


	22. xxii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can everyone who's reading this go back and read chapter 20 before u read this one. trust me, everything will make so much more sense. i forgot to post it cause i'm a dumb bitch, oops, even tho it's genuinely one of my fav chapters. so yeah, pls go and do that, much appreciated xx

_Simon_

Baz?  
"Thank fuck," I say to myself. "I thought you'd just ran off and left me."  
I'm so ready to accept that Baz has finally come back for me that I don't even look at first.  
I turn my head. It isn't him.  
The man is tall, broad-shouldered. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in my life. (Or at least, the past few days.) He’s got this nasty scar running from his eyebrow to his lip, like someone dragged a nail right down his face. Straight out of a wanted poster.   
Suddenly, there's two of them. Identical, apart from the scar. Down to the matching papercut grins

“Where-...where’s-”  
“Basilton?” another voice interrupts. I whip my head around. The same man is standing at my other shoulder. Well, practically the same. He hasn’t got a scar.  
I shrink into myself. “Baz, yeah.” I never thought that his name was anything other than Baz. What was it the man called him? Basilton?   
Well, I guess it sounds posh enough for him.  
“We know where he is.”  
I look back at the other man. “You do? Could you-”  
“Take you to him? Of course.”  
“Really?” I say. I feel super uneasy, but I’ve felt that way since Waterloo, so it’s not like it’s anything new.  
They walk away from me, their huge, brisk strides carrying them into the distance.  
I don’t have time to make up my mind. If I don’t leave now I’ll lose sight of them.   
I chase after them.


	23. xxiii

Simon  
“Hold up!”   
They don’t even turn around.   
“Is he okay? How come you know where he is? Does Baz know you?”   
One of them grunts, and I take it as a yes, even though it’s probably means can this prick shut up already.  
After about a minute of walking in silence- well me jogging desperately in order to keep up with their long strides, we reach a corner of London that for once, isn’t bustling with people. They’ve stopped just outside an alley. I stare at them. “Is this--”  
They both gesture for me to go inside and I groan internally. I’ve never liked the dark, ever since I was young. I think that was the Mage’s doing.   
“Anything could be lurking in the shadows, Simon. Stay vigilant at all times.” As if there were bandit gnomes camping out in the corner of my room. Plus, I think I’m developing a fear of confined spaces. (Surprise surprise.) If I die in a small dark place where no-one can hear me or even knows who I am, this will be the ultimate moment of irony.  
I walk into the alleyway.  
“Baz?” I call. (I might as well check if he’s there before going the whole hog and actually getting attacked.) If he is there, he doesn’t say anything.  
There’s a strong smell of piss. Something scuttles over my foot- I think it might’ve been a rat. My breath tastes sour in my mouth.  
I think I can hear groans coming from the end of the passage. They’re low and guttural, the sort of sound the cats would make when they fought outside my window. I stop for a second, fear slicking my skin.   
It’s just Baz, Simon. Come on.  
I still summon my sword. I know, I’m a coward, but I guess all those years in the tower have done something to me after all.   
“Baz, is that you?”   
More groans.  
This alleyway is going on forever. I think it’s something to do with the fact that I’m currently doing a great impression of the cha cha slide.  
“Are you okay?” My voice rings around me. Silence.  
“Let there be light!” I whisper. Gold dilutes the blackness of the alley. There’s a hiss, and something flies at me.   
I take a step back. “Baz?”  
He looks terrible. His skin is grey and pallid, eyes red, his usually immaculate hair hanging round his face in greasy clumps. He’s on all fours, like he was on the train.  
And there are fangs protruding from his mouth, huge and sharp and white. It’s kind of awesome, except for the fact that he’s a=obviously baring them at me. I’ve never actually encountered a vampire before. Well, I thought I hadn’t. In some way, I’m not even really scared, because I know it’s just Baz, and Baz would never hurt me.   
But I don’t know that, do I? ‘Cause when I think about it, overally, I’ve known this boy less than a week. And the Mage might be weird and overprotective and-- (worst case scenario) a bit of a psychopath, but at least I know him.  
(Well, I thought I did, anyway.)

His eyes are dull and his pupils are all dilated, and he looks-- well, he looks like an animal. (Who am I fucking kidding, I’m terrified.)  
I don’t quite point my sword at him, but I’m preparing myself to.  
How do you kill a vampire again? Stake through the heart? I have my wand, if worst comes to worst, and if that doesn’t count as a stake I’m really truly fucked.  
“Baz…”  
He snarls, fangs out, gleaming yellow in the wandlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: sorry for the insufferable lack of updates and the extremely short chapter, i've kind of been struglling with motivation and mock exams rn. hope you have a good christmas/holdiays everyone! 
> 
> — gwen


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